


Trigger Discipline

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Character Study, Family, Gen, Post-Recall, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Siblings, That got out of hand, Young Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, fareeha/gun otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: His name was Jesse McCree, and Fareeha's mother was going to be teaching him marksmanship.So why, then, did her mother refuse to teachher?





	Trigger Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> i started this monthsss ago with two ideas: 1 - what if Fareeha and Jesse didn't get on at first? and 2 - what if Jesse was the one who taught her how to shoot? and then it uhhh.... got away from me. lol. but now it's done! it's done... i'm finally free.....
> 
> enjoy!

 

There was a cowboy outside her mom's office.

 

Fareeha peeked at him from around the corner of the corridor. He was pretty young, she guessed, maybe about eighteen, skinny and scruffy with dirt on the knees of his jeans – jeans which were absolutely against regulation. A red kerchief was tied round his neck, and his boots – scuffed at the toes and a size too small for him, also against regulation – were definitely cowboy boots.

 

He lounged against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking bored. He kept working his jaw as if he was used to holding something between his teeth. A long stem of grass, perhaps.

 

Fareeha scowled at him. What was a cowboy doing in Switzerland? And what did he want with her mother?

 

After another minute he sighed, shifting his shoulders against the wall. "Y'all gonna come out," he drawled, "or are ya gonna keep peepin' at me like I'm some kinda walkin' freakshow?"

 

Surprised, Fareeha stilled. She'd been so careful! How did he spot her?

 

The cowboy sniffed. "'S fine, take your time, I'll be here all day," he said, then muttered as a bitter aside, "apparently."

 

Fareeha drew upright and squared her shoulders. She had questions. This cowboy was going to give her answers.

 

She marched around the corner.

 

The cowboy glanced up. He blinked. His face fell slack with surprise for a moment before his features arranged themselves back to careful neutrality. "Well howdy there, lil' lady," he said slowly. He reached up to his head, patted awkwardly at his hair a moment then let the hand drop. "'Scuse my manners. Didn't expect to see a kid round these parts."

 

Fareeha scowled harder. "Who are you?" she demanded.

 

"Who, me?" The cowboy grinned but only with his mouth. It didn't reach his eyes. "I'm nobody. Don't mind me."

 

Fareeha grit her teeth. "What's your name?"

 

The cowboy's grin dropped completely. "What's it to you?" he growled.

 

She met him glare for glare. "My name is Fareeha Amari," she informed him sternly. "Who are you and what are you doing in front of my mother's door?"

 

"..Amari?" The cowboy looked gratifyingly shocked again. He glanced over at the door as if to check – and yes, it still said so, right there on the name-plaque. Amari. "You're Captain Amari's kid?"

 

"Her daughter, yes." Fareeha wanted to roll her eyes. Was he stupid or something? "And I'm not a 'kid'. I'm almost thirteen."

 

"Well, shit – uh, I mean, shoot. Didn't mean to offend." The cowboy scratched his neck. "You don't happen to know where she is, do ya? I was supposed to meet her here an hour ago but she ain't ever showed."

 

Fareeha frowned. "You just waited here for an hour? Why didn't you call someone?"

 

For the first time, the cowboy looked down. His boot scraped against the floor. "They ain't given me one of them comm things yet," he muttered.

 

"Well, I don't know what you're supposed to be doing," Fareeha said, crossing her arms, "but you should go ask someone. Mom won't be meeting you. She was called out on an emergency mission this morning and she won't be back for a couple of days."

 

At this news the cowboy groaned and slumped back against the wall. "Great," he muttered. "Fuckin' typical."

 

"You shouldn't be swearing around me. And you can't stay hanging around here, either. Go away."

 

"Aw c'mon, kid. Gimme a break." When she uncrossed her arms and glared, hands fisted, he pushed himself upright again and waved her off. "Alright, jeez. I'm goin'. Don't gotta call the cops."

 

Fareeha stood guard outside her mother's door to make sure he really walked away.

 

It wasn't until after he'd disappeared that she realised he never gave her his name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She found out a few days later at the dinner table.

 

His name was Jesse McCree, and her mother was going to be teaching him marksmanship.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't fair.

 

Fareeha had grown up knowing her mother was a hero. She was an elite sniper, one of the greatest soldiers who’d ever lived – but more than that, she helped people. Everyone in Overwatch did. They kept the world safe.

 

Was it so strange that Fareeha wanted to do the same?

 

Parents were supposed to help their kids achieve their dreams, weren't they? But her mother refused to – even though she was arguably the most qualified. No matter how much Fareeha had asked, begged, pleaded, her mother would not show her how to shoot. She'd let Gabe teach her firearms safety, a couple of times. That was it.

 

Instead of teaching her daughter, Ana Amari put time aside each week to pass down her knowledge to a stranger.

 

It wasn't fair.

 

Her mother wouldn't let Fareeha in the range. Wouldn't even let her in the Watchpoint gyms without Jack or Gabe, Reinhardt or Gérard or someone she trusted in there with her. Fareeha only had her boxing and her basketball and her martial arts classes, and occasionally, when time (and her mother) allowed, she could spar with the adults... but it wasn't enough. She would exercise every minute of every day, if she could. The exhilaration made her feel like she could fly.

 

But if she had so much potential, why did her mother thwart her? Each time Fareeha broached the subject her mother changed it; to schools, to studies. Had she given any thought to what she wanted to do at university? Did she, perhaps, want to go and stay with her father in Canada for a while? Wouldn't it be nice, Fareeha, to be more settled, to live in an exciting city instead of always being stuck in a boring military base? Your father misses you, you know.

 

"I want to join Overwatch," Fareeha replied. _I want to be like you._

 

But the more she protested, the more firmly her mother put her foot down, and declared the matter done.

 

How was she supposed to become good enough for Overwatch, good enough to be a hero, good enough to _do good_ , if she wasn't allowed to learn how to fight for it?

 

It wasn't fair.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What do you want?"

 

Fareeha frowned and crossed her arms. The cowboy had been around for a couple of years now and he was no longer skinny. Fareeha had hit a growth spurt and was gaining inches rapidly, but standing before him like this made her suddenly and compellingly aware of how much _bigger_ than her he was, in all respects. In his dark combat gear and with the hat casting shadows across his face he seemed to loom over her. The heels on his stupid boots didn't help.

 

But Fareeha was determined. This could be her only chance.

 

“You're a good shot. My mom wouldn't be wasting her time with you if you weren't.”

 

He eyed her with blatant suspicion. “That's what they say about me, yeah.”

 

“I want you to teach me what you know.”

 

"Excuse me? You want me to _what_ now? _"_ The cowboy – _McCree_ – looked around furtively. He lowered his voice. "No. No way, kid. I do that and I could get in serious trouble."

 

Fareeha scoffed. "No you wouldn't. My mom likes you too much."

 

"Your mamá would skin me alive."

 

"My _mam_ _á_ ," Fareeha imitated him, "keeps talking about inviting you to eat with us and Jack. The only reason she hasn't yet is because I said I didn't want you there."

 

McCree just looked at her blankly. "Your point?"

 

" _The point_ is that if you agree to teach me, I'll tell her I changed my mind, and you'll get to have dinner with us. My mom makes the _best_ kushari."

 

"Dinner," McCree repeated. "With you and Captain Amari, and the frickin' _Strike Commander_."

 

Fareeha shifted on her feet. "His name's Jack," she said. This didn't seem to be working as well as she'd hoped.

 

He snorted through his nose. "Yeah, thanks," he drawled. "I'd rather eat in the mess hall with the rest of the common folk, if it's all the same to you. Sorry to ruin your little game." He tipped his hat and started to walk away.

 

Something in Fareeha's chest clenched.

 

"Please."

 

McCree stopped. He took a deep breath and turned around.

 

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

 

Fareeha met his eyes. She stood tall.

 

"Please teach me."

 

McCree stared at her for a minute, his gaze dark and assessing. Finally, he sighed. His eyes slipped closed.

 

A shiver of victory rushed up her spine.

 

"Fine," he groaned. " _Madre de Dios_ , alright. _Fine_. I'll agree to one lesson, _one_ , on the condition that you listen and do _exactly_ what I tell you, understand? Maybe we'll see what you're made of."

 

Grinning, Fareeha stuck out her hand. "Deal."

 

As they shook, McCree looked up to the ceiling and muttered under his breath. "Lord have mercy, your mamá's gonna skin me alive."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha's first proper marksmanship lesson wasn't anything like she had imagined it.

 

To start, it wasn't her mother showing her the ropes. Guns were also much louder in real life than they were in the movies, even simple pulse pistols – she was glad for the ear protection, cumbersome though it was. And Jesse McCree kept making her do the same boring exercises over and over again. He made her take the pistol apart and put it back together five times before showing her how to even hold the thing properly, and it was only because she could demonstrate that she remembered all the safety Gabe had taught her that he didn't linger for an age on that too.

 

She knew it was all important. She did. It was just that they'd been at it for an hour before he even gave her any blanks, and Fareeha was getting nervous. They were running out of time – one of them was bound to be missed eventually, and she didn't know if she'd ever have this opportunity again.

 

She needed to prove she could do it. If she had proof, maybe her mother would finally _see_.

 

To her disappointment, the results were... not particularly inspiring. A full magazine's worth of shots she'd emptied into the target, and only a handful of them had landed within its rings. Most had gone wide.

 

“Hm. Not bad, for a total greenhorn.” McCree's spurs rang behind her as he kicked off from where he'd been leaning on the lane partition. “You handle the kickback pretty good.”

 

 _Don't patronise me_ , she thought, but a hot, unexpected prickle of shame made her bite her tongue. All the cowboy's shots from his earlier demonstration had gone right through the centre.

 

McCree checked the time on the range's screen. “Alright, I think that's enough for today. Let's wrap this up.”

 

“What?” Fareeha whipped her head around and stared at him over her shoulder. “We can't stop now, we've only just started!”

 

“I got places to be.” He stepped up to her and held his hand out for the gun.

 

“But you've hardly shown me anything yet.”

 

“And I'm not gonna.” He gave her quick flash of a smile that didn't meet his eyes.

 

Her grip tightened. “Five more minutes.”

 

“Look, kid,” he said through grit teeth, “I shouldn't've agreed to this in the first place. Why should I stick my neck out for you, huh? I'm on thin enough ice as it is.” He jabbed out his hand again. “Now give me the gun.”

 

Reluctantly Fareeha relinquished it, and tried a new tack. “You wont even show me a trickshot? You must know some.” He glanced at her and raised a brow, but she insisted. “Come on, just one. Please?”

 

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her, then shrugged. “Alright. If that's what you want.”

 

He put the pulse pistol aside and stabbed the screen with his fingers. Fareeha's target slid away, and six new ones took its place, pristine and primed to be destroyed. McCree shooed her back and stepped into position. “You stay right there,” he said fiercely, pointing at her. “Do not take a single step forward, you understand?”

 

She threw him a casual salute, unable to hold back her grin; this was exciting.

 

There was no preamble. For the first time that day McCree drew his revolver from the holster at his hip. He lifted it and aimed, and for a fraction of a moment he held himself so still it was like he'd been carved from stone.

 

“ _Draw_ ,” he cried, and fired.

 

The explosion of noise was so sudden, so intense it seemed to rock the room. Fareeha stood there in shock, her ears ringing despite the mufflers.

 

McCree straightened, stern-faced and frowning. He holstered his gun without any flourish.

 

“There,” he said. “You happy now?” His eyes were grim, blank.

 

Fareeha swallowed and forced the grin back to her lips, trying to regain her footing. “Wow. That was... something else.” She went to the screen, brought the targets forward to look at the damage more closely: six precise holes through the heads. Killing blows, all of them. “How did you even do that?”

 

He sighed and looked away. “You don't wanna know, kid. Trust me.”

 

“Did my mom teach you that? I didn't think she knew any moves that badass.” McCree shot her a strange look, but the words were spilling from Fareeha's mouth too fast for her to check them. “I wish she would teach me some of them. I wish she would teach me _anything_ , but noo, apparently I'm not good enough. Or maybe I'm too precious and delicate to fight, because I'm her daughter instead of her son.”

 

“That's bullshit.”

 

“I know! She's happy to teach _you_ but she won't teach _me_. And it's not like she joined the army when she was eighteen, or anything. Hypocrite. I just want to _fight_.”

 

McCree snarled. “It ain't a _game._ ”

 

Her face fell slack with surprise. She took an involuntary step back, then, determined not to show weakness, scowled again and stood her ground despite the fearful gallop of her pulse.

 

"You know what you are? You're a brat. You're spoiled, you're selfish, and you don't have a _goddamn clue_. Think you got it so hard, complainin' when your mamá's the second-in-command of one of the most powerful organisations in the world. When you can go anywhere, do anythin' you want. When you got everyone here wrapped right 'round your little finger. You got it _easy._ At least you _have_ a mother who cares about you.”

 

He looked away, rubbed his temples. “You're a child. And you know what happens when you give children guns? They _die_.”

 

“You're only five years older than me!” Fareeha protested.

 

He exhaled sharply, a miserable mockery of a laugh. “I ain't been a kid in a decade or more.” He unholstered his revolver and brandished it, pointed to the ceiling. “You know what one o' these can do to a person?”

 

“Wh- yes, of course-”

 

“Do you? You ever felt it? 'Cause I have, and I'm tellin' you, _it ain't fun_. Your mama's right; what we do ain't all medals and posters and – and shaking hands with folks in fancy suits. Not even close. It's violent and painful and destructive. War don't care a bit who's right and who's wrong, and it sure as hell ain't a game. Until you can learn that I ain't showin' you a damn thing more.”

 

Even more than his words, she was taken aback by the look in his eyes. Something lurked there that seemed so much older than he really was. The same starved creature that lingered in the lines between Gabe's brows, in the way Jack's shoulders slumped when he thought he was alone and unobserved. The same look her mother wore in her frown.

 

All the more reason to keep pursuing this, she thought. It should be someone else's turn to be the protector.

 

“I know it's not a game,” she said. The words came out steady. She lifted her chin. “I've lived around soldiers all my life. Maybe I don't have any experience, but I'm not an idiot. I was born into the Crisis same as you.”

 

He stared at her, and for a second he seemed to almost vibrate with tension, as though right on the cusp of a burst of action – until, all at once, he deflated. “Aw, shit.” He shoved his gun back into its holster and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Goddamn hell.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Fareeha said more quietly. “I shouldn't have pushed.”

 

“No, no.” He shook his head. Sighed and turned to look at her. The fire had died in his eyes, dampened into something softer. “No, I'm the one who should be apologisin'.” He crouched in front of her. "I shouldn't unload on you like that; none of what I said is your fault an' I shouldn't've acted like it was."

 

She sniffed. "But you're right. I do have it easy.”

 

"Easier than a lot o' folk, yeah. But that don't mean you can't have problems, or that those problems don't matter, 'cause they do. Alright?" He held eye contact until she nodded. “Good. Now, you really wanna fight?”

 

“I want to be one of the people who protects others,” Fareeha answered. “I want to help make the world a better place. Isn't that what Overwatch is all about?”

 

“Suppose that's one way to think of it.” For some reason he seemed almost sad.

 

Puzzled, she frowned. “If you don't agree, why did you join?”

 

“..They didn't tell you?”

 

“No?”

 

“Naw, guess not, huh.” He huffed. “Let's just say it was... serendipity, and leave it at that.” He continued before she could press for more. “In any case, if that's the way you see things, I'd say the best you can do – the best most of us can do – is to keep going. To do right by people when you can, and to stand up when you think there's a wrong.”

 

“Is that what you're doing?”

 

“Ah, well... I ain't always seen things that way, no, but I guess I'm startin' to.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “Startin' to realise there's more to... that there's _more_ , you know? Tryin' to be a better man than I was before.”

 

He didn't seem so bad to Fareeha, but she hesitated too long to say so.

 

He stood up. "Alright, new deal: I ain't lyin' to your mother if she asks, but if you really mean it when you say you wanna keep doin' this..."

 

"I mean it."

 

"Well alright. In that case... I don't know if I'll be free, but if I am, I'll meet you here same time next week, and we'll pick up where we left off.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Crack!_

 

She hit the bullseye.

 

Fareeha looked up in shock. She pushed the mufflers off her head to hang round her neck. "I did it," she whispered, then grinned wildly as glee surged through her. She whirled round. "I did it! McCree, did you see that? I hit the bullseye!"

 

"Whoa, _whoa_ , safety! Watch where you're pointing that thing!"

 

Fareeha stopped abruptly. The magazine was empty; nevertheless, she switched on the safety and put the gun down before returning to jumping around and punching the air.

 

McCree walked over to take a closer look at the target. He whistled low. "Impressive. You got it almost dead-centre. Good shot, Miss Amari."

 

"Told you I could do it."

 

"Only took you five weeks." He grinned when she scowled at him. "Start hittin' them like that every time, and we may be able to make somethin' of you."

 

"I'm _already_ something," she retorted. Maybe it was just adrenaline, or the excitement, but this time his comments seemed less like barbs and more like teasing. Talking to him was almost _fun_. "One day I'm going to beat you at your own game, you'll see."

 

He dared to ruffle her hair. "Big talk, comin' from such a small kid.”

 

She punched him in retaliation and he laughed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What're you- hey! Hey, give that back!"

 

Giggling, Fareeha danced out of the way of his flailing arms and tore off down the corridor, clutching her prize. She weaved easily in and out of the groups of people going about their business; Jesse, who was bigger and broader and far more inclined to stop for people, had no hope of catching up.

 

"'Reeha! You get back here!"

 

She raced up the wide staircase that led to the conference rooms and peered over the balcony. Two stories below, Jesse stopped and put his hands on his hips. He glared up at her with fierce faux-anger.

 

"Fareeha Amari," he called up, "you are a goddamn menace."

 

Triumphant, Fareeha put his hat on her head and stuck her tongue out at him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You have been spending a lot of time with Jesse, recently," her mother said, not looking up from her report.

 

Fareeha paused in her chewing. "..And?"

 

Her mother did look up then, with a spark in her eyes that instantly raised Fareeha's hackles.

 

"He has grown into quite a handsome young man, wouldn't you agree?"

 

Fareeha rolled her eyes. "Gross. He has a _soulpatch._ " She popped another cheese puff into her mouth and crunched down on it. "You shouldn't be saying things like that, anyway. You're old enough to be his mom."

 

Her mother didn't rise to the bait. "But you are not."

 

Her smile was sly. Knowing. Fareeha hated it. It was the kind of look that adults get when they think they're being clever, the kind of look that said 'I know something you don't' or 'I've worked out your secrets and they amuse me greatly'. When they laugh and won't accept when you tell them they're wrong.

 

Fareeha prickled with heat all over.

 

"I don't like him," she said, swallowing her mouthful thickly. "Not like that."

 

Her mother chuckled. "Is that why you're blushing?"

 

"He's just a friend."

 

"Of course."

 

The heat roared into anger. Fareeha slammed her snack down on the coffee table, sending crumbs flying, and shot up from the sofa. “He's just a _friend!_ You don't understand!"

 

For a moment her mother looked surprised, then her eyes sharpened. "Don't take that tone with me, Fareeha," she said. "And don't pester Jesse. You're barely sixteen; he's too old for you."

 

"I just _said_ I don't like him anyway! Why do you never listen to me!" Fareeha stormed out of the room before she started throwing things the way she wanted to, ignoring whatever her mom called after her, and slammed the door behind her.

 

She didn't like Jesse. The thought was hot and shaking, but she knew full-heartedly it was true. She didn't like him, not like that.

 

She didn't think she liked boys at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Despite what her mother may have thought, Fareeha didn't hang around with Jesse all the time. His work kept him busy, often away from HQ for weeks at a time, and this only became more true as they both got older. Fareeha missed him, but she had other friends, and anyway she was becoming increasingly busy with her schooling.

 

So she grew used to his long absences. After all, he always came back. It never really occurred to her it was possible he might leave one day and not ever return.

 

The first extremely rude reminder of this crucial, dangerous fact reared its head late one night, as Fareeha was falling asleep in front of the tv, her mother reading reports on the couch next to her. Neither of them reacted much when her mom's comm beeped – it did so every five minutes. It was only when her mother made a distressed noise in her throat and stood up abruptly, sending her tablets crashing to the floor, that Fareeha realised anything was wrong.

 

“Stay here, Fareeha,” Ana said briskly, tying up her loose hair and heading for the door. “Gabriel's team has returned; I am needed down in Medical.”

 

Heavy dread coiled in Fareeha's gut. “Gabe's team? Is he okay?”

 

“Yes, Gabriel is fine.” Ana paused with her hand on the door. “..McCree, however, has sustained injuries.”

 

“Jesse?” Fareeha scrambled off the couch. “Jesse's hurt? What happened – is he gonna be-”

 

“I don't know what happened, Fareeha. I need to go.” Her mother marched off down the corridor. “Stay here.”

 

Fareeha dithered in the open doorway for a minute, cold and sick with indecisive panic, before she followed.

 

She raced down to Medical in a grey haze, heart thundering in her throat. When she caught up with her mother she was surrounded by people – nurses, one of the doctors – and at her side was the tall, reassuring silhouette of Uncle Gabe's back and shoulders, draped in his usual black. They both nodded at something the doctor was saying. Then Gabriel turned, and the whole group shifted as one, advancing swiftly up the hall towards Fareeha.

 

She opened her mouth to speak, to ask Gabe what had happened – but at the sight of his face, she stopped. His expression was grim, his skin a greyed, exhausted pallor, but it was the look in his eyes that silenced her. Something hardened and cold. Dangerous. For the first time in her life, he frightened her.

 

She looked down. His fists were clenched, coated in dark red and brown. Drying blood.

 

He didn't spare her a glance as he stalked past and stopped outside the medbay doors. Hovering behind him, escorted by the team of nurses, was a gurney.

 

And strapped to the gurney was Jesse.

 

Fareeha only caught a glimpse before he disappeared through the doors to be taken to surgery, but that brief moment was enough to sear the image to her mind. Jesse was even paler than Gabriel, more blood on his clothes than in his cheeks – so much the fabric over his stomach was sodden with it. An oxygen mask was fitted over his mouth and nose. His eyes were shut.

 

She'd never seen him so still.

 

Her mother and Gabriel followed Jesse through the doors. The hall fell silent. Fareeha slid down the wall and sank to the floor. All she could do was hug her knees and wait.

 

Eventually, after what could have been minutes, could have been hours, her mother returned. The doors slid open. At the sight of Fareeha she stopped short. She closed her eyes, leant against the doorframe.

 

Fareeha got up, rubbing the pins and needles from her numbed thighs. “Mama?” she said.

 

Ana walked over and leant against the wall next to her daughter. “His condition is stable.” She let out a slow, weary sigh. “I told you not to come, _habibti._ ”

 

“I know.” Fareeha crossed her arms over her chest and clasped her own elbows. She wished she'd thought to put something on over her pyjamas. “Is it always like this?”

 

“More often than I would wish.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Her mother weaved her hands together in front of her. They were spotlessly clean. “This is why I don't want you to feel obligated to have anything to do with Overwatch,” she said. “I don't want you to believe you must follow in my footsteps.”

 

“It's not like that, mom,” Fareeha said, feeling a strange need to reassure her. “This is precisely why I want to do what you do. Don't you see? If I'd been there, maybe I could have protected Jesse. I could have stopped him from getting hurt at all. Isn't that what you do? You watch over our people, keep them safe?”

 

Ana took a deep breath. “Sometimes I fail. Sometimes you do everything you can, and people still die. Jesse could-” She broke off, swallowed, tried again. “McCree could very easily have died today. It is more likely than not that one day I will not return from battle myself.”

 

Hollow, icy dread seized Fareeha's heart again. “But...”

 

Ana clenched her eyes shut like she was in pain. “No, Fareeha.” She straightened, her voice hard and rough. “It is hard enough to lose fellow soldiers. You cannot ask me-- I _will not_ bury my daughter. My answer is no. That is final.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few months later Jesse was transferred, following Gabe out to Watchpoint Grand Mesa. Fareeha took her exams, and was accepted to study mechincal engineering at UBC.

 

She didn't see him for a long time after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Well howdy there, lil' lady!"

 

Face splitting in a grin, Fareeha punched the bag one last time to finish her cool-down before she stopped, tugging the gloves from her hands. She wiped her face off and hung her towel over her shoulders, and turned around.

 

"Or not so little." Jesse was grinning too as he approached the punching bags where she'd set up camp half an hour ago. He eyed her up and down. "Jesus Mary and Joseph, when'd you get so tall? What were they feedin' you in bootcamp?"

 

Fareeha laughed. "It's good to see you too, Jesse."

 

His grin turned lop-sided. "Aw, hell," he murmured, and pulled her into a tight hug, uncaring of the sweat she was covered in. "Come here."

 

She patted him on the back. He'd gotten bigger too, but Fareeha was now nearing six foot and 180 lbs of pure muscle, and had long since realised there wasn't much about Jesse McCree to be intimidated by. So long as you were on his good side.

 

She wondered idly if she could bench-press him.

 

He pulled away and held her by the shoulders, looking her over again. "You look good," he decided. "Army life's treatin' you well, then?"

 

"As well as can be expected. How about you? Any near-death experiences recently?"

 

"Only every morning, and twice on Sundays."

 

She tsked. "I keep warning you not to mess with Gabe's coffee, but do you listen?"

 

"Look, it ain't my fault he's such a hardass about his caffeine," he laughed. "Anyway, what's this I hear about a _girlfriend?"_

 

Fareeha groaned. "You've been speaking to my mother, haven't you."

 

Jesse looked affronted. "Of course I have!" He nudged her arm. "Well? What's she like?"

 

"Pretty," Fareeha said flatly. "Nice. And none of your business."

 

"Aw, come on!"

 

"Any boys in _your_ life?" she retaliated.

 

Jesse grinned. "Nope!" He popped the 'p' cheerfully.

 

Shaking her head fondly, Fareeha gathered her things and left the gym. Jesse trailed along behind her.

 

"Soo... you and Ana are talkin' again, I take it?" he asked bluntly.

 

Fareeha sighed. "We are, yes."

 

"So you ain't just back for Reinhardt's birthday party tomorrow."

 

"That's the main reason, but... mother and I need to clear the air. Discuss some things."

 

“And have you?”

 

“..Not yet.”

 

“You should.”

 

“I know, I know-”

 

“Seriously, Fareeha.” His tone made her look up. Jesse tugged her to a stop in a quiet corner underneath the stairs to the barracks. “I know you and your mother ain’t always seen eye-to-eye, but I know how much the two o' you mean to each other. And you don’t need me to come preachin’ at you how precious that is. Or how easily it can be lost.”

 

Fareeha nodded. She rubbed her thumb against the rough fabric of her bagstrap. No, she didnt need him to tell her. She could still picture him, lying cold and pallid and unresponsive on that awful gurney – see Gabe’s hands, the dried blood he hadn’t yet washed off his gloves.

 

"Your mama's proud of you," Jesse said quietly. "You know that, right? She calls me up to brag about you all the time." The corner of his wide mouth quirked up in a grin. "Like you and I never talk to each other."

 

Fareeha smiled, recalling several recent conversations, both over phone and by text, in which her mother had enthused at length about Jesse. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Alright, Jesse. I'll talk to her tomorrow.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took over an hour past the presents and singing, when Reinhardt and Torbjörn were well and truly into their kegs, for Fareeha to drag up the courage. She weaved through the noisy crowd and touched her mother's wrist; signalled at her: _I need to get some air. Join me?_

 

Her mother raised a sharp eyebrow but followed without question. Fareeha closed the balcony door behind them and leant against the railing. She looked out at the alpine lake below the Watchpoint, so fresh and green with the growth of spring, and tried to gather her thoughts.

 

Ana rested on her elbows next to her. “Something troubles you,” she said.

 

“Not _troubled_ exactly, just...” Fareeha sighed. “I needed to talk to you.”

 

“Well, here I am.”

 

“Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. “I've been thinking a lot, since I joined the army, and...”

 

“..And? What is-”

 

“Mom, please.” She raised a hand. “I need to say this. Please, just let me speak.” Her mother stepped back, acquiescing, and watched her. Fareeha took a deep breath.

 

“I know I haven't been involved in any active warfare yet, but chances are I will be will be soon. I've had time now to get to know my teammates, to bond with them, and the idea of anything happening to them – of them being hurt because I couldn’t protect them--” She couldn’t finish the thought.

 

“You cannot keep everyone safe, Fareeha,” Ana said quietly. “It isn’t possible. Nor is it _your_ job alone.”

 

Fareeha huffed. “Has that ever stopped you?”

 

Her mother’s smile was sad.

 

“I understand it now,” Fareeha continued. “Why you were so against me joining Overwatch. I mean, I understood at the time, really, but I… I guess I was too angry to accept it. And don’t misunderstand – I still don’t _agree_ with you. But I get it now.” She shook her head, quirked a smile. “I don’t know how any of you coped in the Crisis. I think the worry would’ve killed me before the Omnics could. And having a child in the middle of all that...”

 

“I was told not to have you,” her mother said softly, her voice scratched with something dry and aching. “Not outright, but it was… _suggested_ , that my skills were too valuable. I was reminded frequently of the dangers of continuing to fight whilst pregnant, or with a babe on my hip.” She shook her head. “But it was too late. As soon as I knew – the very _instant_ I knew you existed, I loved you more than anything in this world. Nothing anyone said would ever take you from me. And I have never regretted having you. Not for one moment.”

 

Fareeha stared, stunned. “Mama...”

 

“My beautiful Fareeha.” She reached up and stroked Fareeha’s hair. “My greatest achievement. The most important, wonderful thing in my world. I know I have not been the best mother, but I have always loved you, more than anything. I have always loved you and I always will.”

 

Fareeha wrapped her in her arms. “I love you too.”

 

She’d been taller than her mother for years now, but for the first time, Ana seemed _small,_ her bones delicate despite the lean muscle she still held. Her hair was almost all grey, now, and when she pulled back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she could see the lines etched across her knuckles and her cheeks.

 

Ana cupped her hands over Fareeha's shoulders. “This wasn't the life I wanted for you,” she said, “and truthfully it still isn't. But I know it's your decision, and I can see how it fulfills you. You have my support.”

 

Fareeha bit her lip. “Thanks, mom. I'm going to make you proud.”

 

“Ah, _habibti_. You already do.” She blinked a few times, then chuckled, and patted Fareeha's cheek. “I suppose this outcome was inevitable. Like mother, like daughter, no?”

 

“There are worse people to aspire to.” Fareeha grinned. “I could've turned out like Jack.”

 

Ana barked with laughter. “Don't let him hear that! When did you get such a vicious sense of humour? And grow so _tall?_ You must get these things from your father.”

 

“The height, maybe.”

 

“And what is that supposed to imply?” She didn't bother to restrain her smirk.

 

Fareeha rolled her eyes. “Mom, if roasting people was an olympic sport, you would compete. And you would _win_.”

 

“Hm.” The smirk grew. “It would have to be a second career. I couldn't wait for retirement; that's never going to happen.”

 

“Everyone's got to retire some day, mom.”

 

Ana wrinkled her nose. “Can you really see me lying around doing nothing, sipping cocktails on a beach in Hawaii?”

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

“Hah! Yes, well, perhaps I will, as soon as duty allows.” She grinned. “With a trio of well-muscled young men to massage me with sun lotion.”

 

“Ew, _Mom-!”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha was on a routine exercise near Suez when word came from Overwatch HQ. When Jack gave her a private call later that night he was visibly exhausted; eyes red, voice rough, looking far older than his age. The discussion was stilted, brisk, both of them leaning too heavily on professionalism to cover up the pain.

 

Gabe didn’t call.

 

Her mother's funeral was scheduled for two weeks later. They were never able to recover the body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Not long after, Jesse went AWOL.

 

Just in time, too, she thought to herself, as the tears streamed down her face. Hugging her knees, she slid on the toilet lid until her head hit the wall of the stall. Her friends would probably come looking for her soon, but right now they were still out there at the bar, watching the news that had interrupted the basketball game.

 

Overwatch was in flames.

 

As the world looked on in shock, Fareeha gasped on a fresh wave of tears. She bit down on her lip to stifle the sound, but could do nothing to stop her heart from wailing out in grief.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha left the army.

 

She went back to British Columbia for the summer. Spent time with her father. Went kayaking. Saw some whales. Thought briefly about Reinhardt, whether he'd like to go ice-fishing with her again – but with the thought of Reinhardt came thoughts of other things, so she dismissed the idea. Travelled alone instead. Hiked in some forests. Climbed some mountains. Fiercely ignored the press, tearing into Overwatch’s still-warm carcass like a buffet feast. How quick they were to pass judgement, to condemn people they’d never known. To say it was a fate they’d deserved.

 

The weeks passed, and slowly, her anger and loss scabbed over into a need to _act_.

 

There was a job opening with Helix Security: a posting in Cairo ideal for a soldier with mechanic skills, which promised responsibility and a swift career progression. The chance to work with the pioneering Raptora suit was a plus.

 

She took it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When she returned from training there was a new letter, tucked into the narrow gap under her door.

 

She tore it open eagerly, smiled at the familiar sight of the cypher, transcribed into curling Arabic. Fareeha could read the cypher, of course. She'd been shown it far too many times in her childhood for her not to know.

 

As she read, her fingers brushed over the fresh dark ink under her eye. The skin still felt a little tender.

 

She wished more than anything she could write back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha Amari's childhood dream had been to officially join Overwatch.

 

At age twenty-six, the explosion in Switzerland shattered her dream, just as surely as it shattered her heart. The introduction of the Petras Act shortly after burnt the pieces of the dream to ashes and buried the urn deep.

 

At age thirty-two, she got a call from a gorilla.

 

Winston was as bashful and sincere as ever, but his voice sparked with conviction as they spoke over a well-secured line. The sparks found something in her, deeply buried, and quietly brought it to light. Maybe the dream wasn't as dead as she’d thought.

 

Fareeha couldn't leave Helix Security. Her job was too important, and she had people depending on her.

 

But there was nothing to stop her from taking some vacation time, and visiting an old friend.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse McCree waltzed back into her life two days into her 'vacation'. Fareeha was in the kitchen, chatting to a young Korean soldier named Hana and an omnic who was apparently a friend of Genji's, when a noise caught her ear.

 

The jingle of spurs.

 

She looked up, and there he was. He seemed... smaller, was her first thought. Scruffier too, his face almost hidden under a wild beard. He looked tired and sun-baked and in dire need of a generous helping of a homecooked meal, but he was smiling.

 

"Well, howdy there-"

 

_"You."_

 

His mouth snapped shut. Fareeha stalked across the room.

 

" _You!_ Don't you 'howdy there' _me_ , Jesse McCree! You disappear for years, without a word, and every time I look you up your bounty's gone up by another five million and I can only sit there and wonder what on earth kinds of trouble you're in – so don't you _dare--!"_

 

She cut off and clenched her jaw shut, quivering mad.

 

Jesse's smile softened. "It's good to see you too, 'Reeha," he said.

 

Fareeha choked out a noise and punched his arm, and buried her face in his wool-covered shoulder. He patted her back as she hugged him tight. If she left his serape damp, he was kind enough not to point it out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Been a while since we've been down in a shootin' range together," Jesse drawled, checking over Peacekeeper lovingly. Satisfied, he gave her a little spin round his finger and raised a brow at Fareeha. "Fancy a bit of friendly competition?"

 

"I am not betting against you of all people, Jesse," Fareeha laughed, "I know better. And you know I am no sharpshooter."

 

"Nah, you always were more of the spray-n-pray type," Jesse grinned. "Still, your aim wasn't half bad, last time I saw." He scratched at his beard a moment, thinking. "Tell you what. How about, instead of accuracy, we run a sim together and compete for damage."

 

Fareeha repressed the urge to smirk. "Maximum destruction?"

 

"If you wanna put it like that, yeah. What weapon are you usin' these days, anyhow? UMP? Pulse rifle? AKM?"

 

The smirk slipped free.

 

"What?"

 

Fareeha held up a finger. She went to the locker where she'd stashed her rocket launcher, brought it back to a puzzled McCree, and showed it to him.

 

He coughed and spluttered, eyes wide. Tipped his head back and laughed, and laughed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She'd never seen a look on Jesse's face quite like the one when she arrived back in Gibraltar with Ana Amari and Jack Morrison in tow.

 

Heartbreak. There was no other word to describe it.

 

Fareeha tried to catch his eye, to draw him in, but soon she was surrounded by Reinhardt's overjoyed embrace, his tears, Torbjörn's shock and Lena's excitement, by Winston and Angela and even Genji crowding round, their amazement and accusations and questions, _so many questions--_

 

By the time she could look up again, Jesse was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Smoke curled up around him, flirting with the ends of his hair and spilling out from under the brim of his hat before wisping away into the breeze. He didn't look up as she walked over and sat down beside him in the sand.

 

The waves lapped lazily at the shore. Close-by, a gull hopped around, eyeing them expectantly, but when its hopes yielded no reward it grew bored and flew off.

 

Jesse finished his cigarillo. He rummaged in his clothing for another one, stuck it between his teeth and touched the glowing end of his old to the new, drawing in to ignite it. He extinguished the finished stub in the sand.

 

He took a deep drag, held it, exhaled.

 

"You knew," he said quietly.

 

Fareeha took a deep breath. "I did, yes."

 

Jesse nodded. He was silent a minute, then he asked, "How long?"

 

Fareeha drew her knees up and hugged them. "I got a letter about six months after mother was supposedly killed-in-action," she explained. "Unsigned, but it was written in Arabic, in the cypher she taught me when I was a child. I knew it was her immediately, and I – Jesse, I was angry. _So angry_ , for _weeks_. So _hurt_. But she told me why she had done what she did. It took her almost four months simply to recover from her injuries, and another two to make sure she was safe and would not be discovered. She got in contact with me as soon as she could."

 

Jesse's mouth twisted.

 

"She didn't contact me."

 

Fareeha bit her lip. "..No. I guess not."

 

Jesse stayed silent.

 

"I would have told you if I could," Fareeha promised, "if I'd known you didn't know. I swear it, Jesse. But no one knew where you were."

 

He sniffed and nodded again. "Yeah, I get it. I'd left Blackwatch by that point. Hell, guess I did the same as her, didn't I? More-or-less. Disappeared into the night." He snorted. “I mean, if she didn't tell _Reinhardt_ , why the hell would she tell me? I was just her student – and Blackwatch to boot. Couldn't be trusted."

 

"Jesse..."

 

He sniffed again and lifted his hand under the shadow of his hat.

 

"She was your mother, not mine."

 

His left arm glinted in the sun; he hadn't told her how he lost it. Hadn't told anyone, so far as she knew. Not even Angela.

 

He'd been as hurt as Fareeha was, as they all were by the fall of Overwatch, but he'd had to deal with it alone. He had no job to throw himself into, the way she did with hers – instead, he was turned into a criminal, a scapegoat. He hadn't reached out to his friends. Had no blood family.

 

Fareeha had never been paticularly good at giving consolation, and Jesse had never been good at receiving it. At least she knew him well enough to know her silent companionship was support enough on its own.

 

She shifted closer, and after a minute, he leaned just slightly into her side.

 

Her fingers traced patterns in the sand. “I used to be so jealous, you know,” she confessed quietly. “She gave you so much attention. I got over it, obviously, but those first few years I would have given anything to have her teach me like she taught you.”

 

Jesse let out small, wet-sounding laugh. "You would'a just gotten frustrated, Ree. Sharpshootin' ain't exactly your style. Not enough _boom_."

 

Fareeha chuckled. "Yes, I know that now." She nudged him with her elbow. “Hey. There's something else I need to tell you.”

 

“Yeah?” He eyed her warily. “What's that, then?”

 

“I needed to tell you that you're a good man.”

 

Wariness turned to bewilderment at her conviction, faded to disbelief. “Naw, 'Ree, I--”

 

“Yes, you are _._ I've been so scared, you know, these past few years. Scared that I might never see you again; that I would lose you, and lose the opportunity to tell you. Ana _was_ your mother, Jesse, as much as she's ever been mine. She still is. And you are my brother, whatever happens.”

 

Chest hitching, he dipped his head. His wide jaw clenched around his smoke. She looked away until his breathing steadied.

 

After a minute he took off his hat and plopped it on her head. Like a reflex, she caught the brim, tipped it and stuck out her tongue, and smiled when the old joke made Jesse quirk a small grin.

 

She reached out and pressed her fingers to his arm. “Please talk to her, Jesse. You deserve to hear her story from her, not from me."

 

“I will.” He sighed tiredly. “I will. Just need some time to... come to terms with it, you know. I'm so _fuckin'_ mad, Ree, but-” he patted his chest, “at the same time, I'm so happy I don't know what to do with myself.”

 

Fareeha nodded. “I know the feeling,” she said wryly.

 

Jesse huffed a laugh. “So glad to see her again. And Jack, too. Don't surprise me a bit that he's still kickin'. Old bastard never could give it a rest.” He glanced at her, briefly, then looked away. "Do you know if..." his voice cracked. He licked his lips and tried again. "Is Gabe..."

 

Fareeha shook her head. "I don't know, Jesse," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'd tell you if I did."

 

Jesse nodded. "Just don't seem right," he said, "havin' only two of them, and not all three."

 

Fareeha slipped her hand around his arm. When he didn't resist, she took his hat off and put it on the sand, and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder.

 

His head came to rest on hers. He sighed.

 

"It just don't seem right."

 

They sat together in silence watching the sea, the breeze stirring their hair, as the tide crept steadily up the shore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took about a week, but one night neither Jesse nor Ana showed up for dinner.

 

Fareeha made sure a portion was set aside for each of them. She put Jesse's in the fridge – for when he inevitably snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night, foraging for something to have with a drink and a smoke – and took her mother's to the room she was sharing with Reindhardt.

 

She'd just turned the corner when Reinhardt's door slid open and Jesse stepped out, hat clutched to his chest in his metal hand, the other rubbing over his face. His cheeks were damp, shining under the bright overhead lights.

 

Ana followed him out. She touched his arm, murmured to him; he nodded and turned to her, and the wobbly smile he gave her was full and fond despite the sadness in his eyes.

 

Ana touched his cheek, brushed her thumb gently under his eyes. He closed them and scooped her up in his arms.

 

Fareeha ducked back behind the corner to give them privacy. She waited until she heard the clink of Jesse's spurs retreating in the opposite direction.

 

Her mother was still watching where Jesse had gone, her shoulders straight, hands clasped in military ease behind her back. Fareeha put the tray down on the floor. Her mother looked up at her. Fareeha held open her arms.

 

A beat, and her mother's face crumpled. She fell forward into Fareeha's chest, crying out a half-decade of separation.

 

Fareeha buried her face in her hijab. The food went cold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The three of them lingered by the dropship for a moment after the rest of the team had dispersed. Jesse finished adjusting his ammo belt. “This's been a long time comin',” he drawled. “It's an honour to be fightin' by your sides, ladies. Both of you.”

 

“Oh, you charmer,” Ana chuckled, batting his arm with the back of her hand. She tugged him down to lay a kiss on his forehead. Did the same to Fareeha. “You young things will try to keep up, won't you?”

 

Jesse laughed as she turned and left to climb up to her perch, where she would be watching over them.

 

Fareeha grinned. She tossed her helmet in her hands, settling herself with its familiar weight. Jesse met her eyes; his, like she knew her own were, sparkled with the thrill of the mission. Both of them had seen bloodshed, both had known loss, but there was a reason they were both here. Why they kept coming back for more.

 

Justice needed to be served.

 

Jesse tipped his hat with a wink and loped off in the direction of the payload. Fareeha clicked her helmet into place. She readied her weapon, braced, and in a burst of jets she took to the air, following the cowboy's path from above.

 

Her mother's voice crackled over the comm.

 

“I see you, Pharah. I'll be watching your back.”

 

“Copy that.” No one could see if she beamed under her visor; the giddy thrill of a thirteen year old girl being given what she'd always wanted, mixed with the certainty of a grown woman who knew she'd found her place. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

 

She'd always dreamed of the day they'd all fight together. It didn't matter that there was no Overwatch insignia anywhere on her armour. It didn't matter that no one would give her a medal when she returned, or that she'd never be recognised for her bravery by suited UN officials. Fareeha knew why she was fighting. What mattered was the cause. What mattered was the people.

 

So on she flew, ready to rain justice from the open sky.

 

 

 


End file.
